If I had two better hands
I'd write out a list of all my plans
But one of them would be crossed out in a red inked pen
Two words that do nothing but weaken my message
How useful is atonement if it doesn't make amends?

It could be my clown teared eyes
Or the masquerade I use to hide
All my riddles and blues are part of a balancing act
I can juggle while I'm crying and say two offense
I must look like such a fool in my angst performance.

But when you speak to me
I slip into a dream like trance
Where poetry makes love to me
And two words are never at the end of every sentence
But you're not the type to let this go
I can feel it when we hold hands
It's so simple to be regretful
But harder to forget.

I know two words
And That's all I ever say
Time is a glass house mime with silent parties within
I bang on every door screaming, "Let me in",
She comes over to the window just to shake her head.

I could change like a fantasy
Pretend I'm a Jester singing to a Queen
Pulling out a veil of blue and green
Charm her with my comedy and ****** her with magic
If I could pull out more words from my sleeve
I would lead with a compliment instead of plead apologetic
Two words are like a hook and I'm caught on them again.

Wallflowers bloom brightest in the cold
I could be picked if I didn't try and control
I know you need peace
And I just need it to snow
Freeze my words and wait for Springs' thaw
I'll wait for you to come and pick a bouquet
I'll look lovely in your window
If I can just stay frozen.

I promise to be more patient
Hold my tongue and count back from three
On my list I'll take two words
And cross them out of my vocabulary
It must not mean that much coming from me
But I got a list of plans
You and I will just have to wait to believe.

June 29th, 2017
It’s been 1 year, 4 months and 19 days.
For 1 year, 4 months and 19 days.
Count the acidic tree rings
Nearly 504;
Bright
A.m. eyes
On East Ferry,
in contrast of noir
I say, man;
June 29th, 2017.

It’s time to get a new calendar,
Cause I count 5,000 dollars later
and not a sense of a cent
was fined for my remorse.

I’ve been fine and fined.
Holes in my pockets
dropping seeds of change
planting fines

Into puddles
and potholes
showing deep interest
into the alignment of my car
stalling my engine with debts.

19,000 dollars and growing later;
I learned what trigger warnings cost
and ironically
I wrote a paper on it.

Don’t get me, wrong I am grateful
But, I had to rip holes
into all my jean pockets.
I mean, **** it,
I never had much going in
And I should quit smoking
My lighter is dead
Only blue and red
Sparks lived well in my mirrors
On, June 29th, 2017.


From the wall I was chained to,
I enrolled into college
My mom drove me home from my first class.
My lawyer wasn’t much of a lecturer,
He spoke math for 1,400 dollars

250 and 9 weeks.
106 a month for 52.

That’s enough math for this semester.

I drank with my night instructor on Mondays after 9,
He wanted to hear my music
We drank whiskey salted potholes on Allen
I counted his tree rings to 4/4 measure in regret;
20 years steady.

I graduated on a Tuesday morning,
I didn’t call him back to thank him for the irony.

I acknowledged our acidic rings
With glass cheered laughter
Swallowing thanks for each other’s company.
9 weeks and I don’t recall ever leaving the room.
43 went after,

And today life is that,
Paid for in lessons,
No need for pockets

I am those potholes
bumping coffee all over me
20 mins late to my first class.
I can repave them
but they won’t stay filled
It’s OK to want smoother roads to school.
I’m late but I’m here

I’m a mess.
******* would see art.
People have his eyes on me.
I want to be framed and splattered
on the walls of your home
A household mess .
It’s OK to have a passion.

Look into my tree rings
How old am I?
Its restorative to count
27 rings of rebirth
Look at me still growing
I believe I can grow in Paradise-lost fire
Or in Buffalo salt

I am my flaws
I counted them

My alcohol abuse,
One beat of 2,653 in 2017
I don’t know how to put an apology
On a music sheet.


The Jazz fills my potholes in the morning
before these hallways

My grey area is stained glass in Villas library,
Each step is eclectic
From shoe up and over is stand still art

Lighters flash cigarettes burning
But prints pictures of thankful new memories

With all of you in it.
Thank you for helping me with today’s date.

I been born to lack.
Self inflicting heart attack.
I been born to mourn my death.

I'm a plague dressed in disguise
A brooder of everything in sight.
I been born to mourn my death.

Don't bother to please.
You'll find I need no sympathy
I'm a swamp that takes body heat.

When you're in my morass trap,
You'll find anxiety tracks.
It's a disheartening,
Meglo-mockery.
Oh, Mephisto please.
Why do I do this to you my marsh queen?

Oh, I don't take, I steal.
Hearts, time and self esteem are a good meal.
Don't have any aches for me
I was born to mourn my death.

I must seem like a mystery
With dirt prints I leave behind every scene.
Taking you deep into a quagmire of negativity.

I been born to lack.
It's not my fault you got trapped.
But you were warned before,
I was born to mourn my death.

In an epidemic of black eyes
Cyclops people lose.

                                          A right
of passage into womanhood is

a HANDS ON
approach.

                                           A right
hook with a bow tie in the
        
                Vmiddle Knuckle.

  L
      O
   V
  E

From index to pinky
And all over her body.

Seeing this from one eye
Is the luck of having two.

"Thank you.", I say.

With half my mouth in silence
As muted screams escape the smothering hand that says LOVE.

Myself. Myself.
Who else? Who else?
The universe is always with me.

I maybe alone with only philosophy and routine,
But I awake every morning never lonely.

I now;

Tuck myself to sleep.
Sing myself a lullaby.
Pour myself a glass to drink.
Bury myself in sheets at night.

I admit it took self-control and a floor for me to greet, but nowadays I look at my feet and it's the best sight to see!

The floor! The floor!
Never ever before!
Has the earth looked so whole and green and sewn in patchy.
Below us all, ten toes and two soles. Peace has been all about loving the ground beneath feet.

I use to;

Tear myself out of bed.
Find myself a few hours in.
Scare myself awake, shaking.
**** myself for being ******* annoying.

Save yourself from sloth and wealth, two women that took my bed.
I can't blame them now for bringing me down, when I invited them in.

Now I;

Lay myself down, happy.
Me, myself and a bed so big.
Pardon myself, for hating.
By myself, life isn't a sin.
Healed myself, with one breath in.
Forgave myself, exhaling.

"I. Love. Sloth and Wealth", I say to myself. I don't despise what should always have been in small quantities. With a will and a way the balance is made, and now we can be a family.

I once;

Burned myself, still texting.
Hurt myself waiting.
Unplugged myself for an evening.
Told myself I was failing.

Here I am!

Producing myself a new mantra.
Singing myself a new song.

If I find myself with blues and a heart bleeding from a sleeve, scabbing, dry and peeling.

I remind myself what love is about and I can feel the universe kiss me.

Brothers and sisters,
I sit warding cynical language to the illumination of my desktop.
Bartering darkness with small doses of snickering blank stares.
My pretention is strength.

Mediocre-core, I dub my passages.
Incomparable senseless steads I ride in stanzas
Through time, He was once a child warrior.
So masculine before now.
I wouldn’t call balance a chance but a imperfect standard.

All ball, no beam.
Steps are often not taking for balance.
I burden myself with Erie

Lake of which my family took refuge in supply
Something I wouldn’t understand
Traumatized by cold weather let alone starving.
Burnt tires in my nostrils in protest to movement  
I fund my own campaign of self deprecation
Laughing at my own actions,
unkindly ripping myself apart.

The smiles I paint on paper faces are bleeding ink
Smearing on my hands, red dripping from gums.
I am laughing.
That’s how he would of wanted me.
To see me smile.
So cynical and backwashed blood in my water.

He argued who should laugh at his jokes.
At his mishaps.
At his blunders.
At his failures.

He said it was “for him”.
"That’s what it is", belly juggled in hiccups of air.

“I am the man who laughs at himself.
If I can make myself laugh I am happy.
Not a jester for common cynics.
I AM Scaramouche in MY play.
The king is me.
The queen is too.
The crowd is amateurs looking for my intoxication.
I will give them tastes of beer but I drink from the tap.”

Thus bent over and *** crack smiles flatulence, hyena and exit.
Regular here, a Griffin in abuse to my sides.

My uncle.

I woke in shock vibrations from my screen.
Forensic analysis deduced irregularities as the time provided evidence.
This was not a humorous hour.
I spun in my current room
Dreading sheets over the sun.
Pulling lashes out of my eyes.
I lost the battle to the hour and checked the joke.

My sister said it wasn't funny.
He wasn’t laughing when he left us.
He did get the last laugh and on no ones terms.
I wonder if that was something he can remember
Chuckling excessively in waves of inhales.

No one laughed at his side rigorous.
Not a single smile in the room.
As 1200 miles of anxiety took me to his grave.
Waking in California sunshine and resting in Buffalo wind.

I wasn’t a funny person compared to my well rested uncle.
He unveiled a Irish swagger in a ballroom of stuffed necks.
My uncle broke the rules for Carpe Diem, pushing comfort aside.
One by one, family members dismissed my clown.
They were ashamed of themselves, they can't laugh.
They don’t know how to laugh.
Such seizures of breathe at his own voice.
You were in the ensemble yourself, seizures and grasping.
Your stiff neck with red anxiety,
feeling the palms and stares of relatives beating your face.

"**** 'em!"

As I lose sight of my surroundings
I imagined him for the last time explaining the world to me;

"Look at all of this limited moments
No TIME!
No REASON!
**** trying to be stiffed neck down to your *** crack!
You don't have an *** to begin with!"

My Uncle, the Meta-modernists first.
I doubt he even would care to know what that even means.
And I loved him for that raw innocence.
Sheila LaBeouf  could of learned what infamy really was;

One 12 pack,
A BBQ
Horse **** Country for suburbs.
And my uncles shadow.
With that he was never alone in blue skies or gray

Juggling blubbering soul, translating to joy.
I didn't hear sobs, just sobering up.
I feel so clueless now since I turn back on my chair,
Documenting my Uncles success in influence.
I picture shakes coming from his rest, hallow rest.
Uncertain to if it is the snores or alertness of his nephew, taking refuge in his teachings.

5 people just before a walk.

1 decides to stay;
Separate from the flock.

4  people out in the shade
1 saw her shadow and out she plays

3 people who don't want to be alone
2 begun to march and left the other on his own.

1 person out in the cold
Sad and lonely, he goes home.

Today I am a stubborn nail and the world naturally carries hammers so here we are, stud.

But I have one too, so like we're good?

But being a contradiction wasn't enough to me I wanted to be a cliche. I wanted physical proof I am not well. They say it's all in your head, but like if it's actually in your head, it's still something they can't see so it's not there, stud.

But I can't hammer this tumor to a wall and call myself fine, This is useless to me.

A nail has been given a hammer and I was told to “see what happens”.

Naturally I want to swing.

I'm like you.

I don't enjoy breakdowns.

I find a nail sticking out of a wall annoying too.

But I know I just can't hit myself with a hammer to feel better.

I watch actors make rules to love only to break and reshape when others enter stage.

How many walls to build to break?

4th
16th,
64?

Solar eclipse wore the chorus
like the string show,
that pulls on his connected joints to the plot.

Sandbags releasing more tension
than stent  
   to artery
       to a heart,
a BURST
               of emotion across this platform,
       rain into the audiences eyes in musical crimson cascade shards of glass for sentimental effects...

That plunger pulled precision ******
from the veins of the actor,
shamed to have said, "I love you", ever again.

Shame on the red spector , the actor and the writer. All shadow, casting doubt into what it means to relate,
to touch.

I want to apologize,
Ahead of time
for my, my,
My isolation

I'm certain you've heard it before
If I have to leave I must go
Don't judge me for my, my
My miscommunication

I'm not trying to bring you down with me
If I have to go, just let me leave

Don't want this to be so melancholy
I just want to be lost with nobody

Don't let me bring you down.
I just can't care anymore.

I been so carried up, with all these affairs,
all these stupid affairs
That don't fair with me

I can't complain about a predators trap
If I lazied in her hungry attack

But lately, please excuse me,
And the stomach aches
It's been acidlicy displeasing living as her bait

I'm just trying to make it all by myself
Without that woman, that lady, my mistakes

Don't let me bring you down.
I just can't care anymore

That woman came and get me
And then left my heart to break
I feel the pound gate closing
I feel the cage just the same
It must be so easy to let a man fade
Oh, I'll just hurt you just like that scarred day
Next time someone loves me
You'll be making all the mistakes

Don't let me bring you down
I can't care anymore.

Bare it all onto blank sheets or black and fill it all up with what the universe is  made up of; something that matters.